Classic Poem

9.

He said, and from his forehead fair
Strok'd back dark locks of glossy hair,
Smiling in scorn. She wrongly deem'd
That he was tranquil as he seem'd,
And, cautious, answer'd — boastfully
Feigning a false security:
" If we have caus'd his many sorrows,
Shall I hate him who suffers for us?
My father lov'd the outcast man
Whom priest and priestling therefore ban,
For well they know that Adwick knows
How vain are all their shams and shows!
But though the power that awes ev'n thee
Might well appal a maid like me,
I go not hence, Sir. Who will dare
To storm th' enchantress in her lair?
Wierd daughter of a wizard sire,
Can I not flood the heav'ns with fire?
And slay, far off, the covert foe
Who but in thought might work me woe?
Nor force nor fraud of man I fear;
Nor, Konig, am I lonely here. "